


Scales

by strangeallure



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Lack of Communication, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, always a winning strategy, sex with the ex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28833483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: “You should stand up for yourself, Ben, not let me push you around.”There’s a spark in his eyes and he pulls himself up to his full height. It’s satisfying to get a rise out of him, to draw out his anger. “Push me around?” he asks darkly and takes a step closer. “Like you’re trying right now?”The scales between Ben and her never seem to be in balance.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 29
Kudos: 97
Collections: Ijustfellintothissendhelp





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Frangipani, for encouragement and beta. 
> 
> Fic is finished, second part will be posted in a few days.

“Your lease is up in August, right?” Ben’s breath is warm against the side of her neck, his arm slung lazily across her shoulder. Rey nods and hopes he doesn’t feel her stiffen. “I think you should move in with me.” There’s a relaxed confidence in his voice, like this is the right thing to do.

Rey wishes they weren’t at his apartment right now, she’s always less sure of herself here. It’s a small studio, not a flashy place, and Ben probably doesn’t even notice all the details that set her on edge, like the designer light fixtures, hardwood floors and brand-new fridge with a functioning ice cube maker. She saw a repair bill on his desk once and realized that the mud-streaked mountain bike stowed on a rack behind the door is worth more than all her possessions combined.

“I can’t,” she says. “I’m leaving for France in a few weeks.”

Telling anyone about her application, even Ben, had felt like tempting fate. There was no chance of getting in _and_ getting the additional stipend, which was the only way Rey could afford to actually go. Her grade point average isn’t perfect, one of her references called her “extremely opinionated”, and she has nothing but a hastily taken elective to fulfill the scholarship’s language requirement. And yet she got in. She never even had a fucking passport before, but now she’s going to France.

One of the biggest wins in her life, and yet she’d put off telling anybody. Telling Ben. Just until she received the official paperwork in the mail. Until she picked up her passport. Until she confirmed her flight.

“I’m sorry, Ben,” she means it and doesn’t. “I should have told you sooner.” That’s what you do in a relationship, right? Tell each other things. She waits for his irritation, his anger, and for a moment, she thinks it’s there, in his eyes, in the tension building in his body, the way he moves away from her, but then he scrubs his hand across the side of his face, across his scar, taking a deep breath, and it dissipates. Or maybe it was never there.

“It’s okay.” He smiles and pulls her into a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

Shouldn’t he be hurt that she didn’t even tell him about the application? Shouldn’t he be upset that she’s leaving? But no, he’s always so soft with her these days, kind and understanding. It makes Rey angry, prickly, ants scurrying under the surface of her skin, and if she shows him, he will try and defang her feelings with kindness like he always does, like he’s soothing a child on the verge of a tantrum, whispering the storm away with sweet words.

Sometimes she wants the Ben other people get. A broody thinker with caustic remarks. Someone who holds a grudge and calls people out on their bullshit. A guy who stares daggers and demands what he deserves.

“You’ll have such a great time there, sweetheart,” he says into her hair, still holding her.

He should be sad that she’s leaving, should be mad at how last-minute this is. It’s a big deal. But maybe it isn’t for him. Where he grew up, people probably go to Europe all the time. If you don’t need a job or a scholarship or an extra stipend for airfare and books and fucking food, it’s probably something to do on a whim. There’s a hint of bile bubbling up her throat, but when he starts rubbing her back, starts stroking her jaw, Rey feels herself calm down.

“Let’s just make the most of the time we have before you go,” he murmurs in that suggestive tone that always gets to her, that always distracts her and makes her want to be close to him, skin on skin.

Ben fucks her gently that night in the dim light of his studio, telling her how perfect she is, how smart, how proud he is, while his hands frame her face and his tongue teases her mouth, his body giving her pleasure in familiar, measured strokes that never fail to make her moan.

After, they simply lie next to each other, Rey curling into his warmth, his smell, stroking his belly with her thumb as he does the same with her shoulder. For the moment, everything else is muted and she’s sated, content.

And then he starts talking again. He’ll call her, text her, skype her. He’ll visit and they’ll stroll along the Champs Elyse together. He’ll take her to a lovely bed and breakfast in the Bretagne.

His words seem to compound and prickle somewhere in her gut, reminding her that this might be a big thing for her, but for him, it’s not that special. He talks about multiple visits like an intercontinental flight isn’t a major expense, talks about the places he’ll take her because he’s been there before. It’s another reminder of how differently they grew up, how different they are, how those differences will never go away. And she knows it’s not his fault, but it makes her angry, how she always has to claw and fight and work her ass off; how he can never understand what it’s truly like. Her anger rises and rises and it hurts, and she wants to hurt him, too.

“Long-distance almost never works, you know,” she says roughly, cutting through his chatter about their future adventures in Paris. And how fucked up is that, wanting to hurt someone who’s happy for you?

Ben barely reacts. “We’ll make it work,” he says with a shrug; like it’s easy, like that’s not what most couples who tried thought, too.

“You don’t know that,” she says, her voice feeling like heartburn. “You can’t know that.”

He looks up at her, eyes obscured by shadows, finger rubbing along the scar on his cheek again, and for a moment, Rey thinks she’s gotten to him. “You’re right, I can’t know that.” Is this when she finally pierces his relentless confidence? “But I believe in us.” Rey sighs. Of course. “There are people who make it work, and I want us to be those people.”

She tightens her jaw, molars grating against his calm condescension. No matter what she says, it seems like he doesn’t want to take it seriously, willfully blind to the fault lines between them. The louder, the angrier she gets, the more Ben softens his voice, gentles his touch.

They’ll work through it if she ever “slips up,” all he wants is for them to try. So apparently, she’s the risk factor here, the only one in danger of cheating. His love is strong enough, he is strong enough. She is the weak link; she is the possibility of failure. 

“No. I don’t want to try,” she spits, and it’s satisfying to see his face fall. “I want to go to France and learn new things and make new friends and fuck cute boys.” He jolts, breath sharp like she punched him. Good. “I don’t want to feel tied down by daily calls and texts from my parole officer of a boyfriend. I want to be free.” It doesn’t matter if it’s true as long as it gets to him.

Ben swallows. “Okay-“ He blink slowly, looking stunned, disoriented. “Okay.” She’s never heard his voice crack like that. And what kind of person is she to feel good about that?

He gets quiet, so quiet. No hands on her shoulders, shaking; no screams, no shouts. He’s not fighting with her, for her, doesn’t even move as she puts her clothes back on and gathers the few things of hers that live at his place, throws them into her bag.

At least she’s the one who gets to walk away.

When Rey looks back at him, his eyes are glimmering in the twilight of the room, and the lines in his face and his body speak of deep exhaustion. No heat, no fury, just sadness. She’s the one who hurt him, so it doesn’t really matter that the blade cut her, too.

She doesn’t say goodbye before she walks away.

\--

When she comes back from France, Rey’s first thoughts are of Ben. She’s nervous, full of too much energy. She wants to call him, doesn’t because she has no idea if he’s still thinking of her and because the things that keep them apart haven’t changed.

She half-expected him to avoid her but is relieved to find he doesn’t. Instead he’s still around at most gatherings initiated by Rose or Poe, still part of their circle of friends. They talk sometimes, even sit next to each other if there’s no other seat. Neither of them would want to make a fuss, make it awkward. They both act like they’re okay, like it doesn’t sting, like they can’t feel the other’s presence across the room. Or maybe that’s only Rey. He never makes eye contact with her anymore, even when he pretends, when his eyes are on her ear or her nose or her forehead when they talk, briefly and superficially. It’s alright, she tells herself. It’s good. And maybe it is.

As their graduation draws closer, the future changes from concept to certainty. Finn’s already decided to stay for post-grad and when Poe, Rose and Rey all get jobs in the area, some of the constant tension in Rey’s spine melts away. Things won’t be the same, but they all agree to keep their regular Friday meet-up in an effort to stay close as their paths branch out. Rey’s glad to be staying in Coruscant, which she’s started to see as a home, to stay close to the few people she’s come to learn to rely on.

When she learns of Ben’s new job across the country it’s through Rose, who casually mentions it over coffee. It’s fine. Rey has no claim on knowing his life anymore. Truthfully, she’d gotten used to Ben keeping things from her long before they broke up. There’d been a time when he’d shared everything with her, this too-tall boy who’d run away from home, starved for attention in a way Rey could relate to, with an all-too familiar anger in his eyes and a barely-healed scar slashed across the side of his face. Back then, she’d been the one to soothe him.

Ben isn’t a fan of big parties, so his farewell is a small, impromptu affair at their favorite bar with only a few people. She overheard him and Poe earlier, so Rey knows that he’s already packed up and dropped off his keys this morning. That he’s going to stay until closing time, take a cab and then wait out the remaining hours until his early morning flight at the airport. It makes sense. Ben can afford a hotel room of course – or his parent’s credit card can – but he hates sleeping in unfamiliar places.

The bar has emptied out, and when Poe announces his departure, leaving Ben alone in his booth, Rey gets up and slides into the seat across from him.

“You didn’t exactly live it up tonight.” She clinks her glass against the beer bottle he’s been nursing so long that the condensation has soaked into the label, making it curl.

He shrugs. “I hear in-flight hangovers are the worst.”

“Too bad,” she says, and she isn’t sure if it slips out or if it’s deliberate.

“You trying to get me drunk?” There’s a pull at his mouth and something in his eyes she recognizes.

“That was the plan.” That one definitely doesn’t slip out. Rey wants to tell him, she just needs him to ask.

“What plan?”

“Get you drunk enough so you’d come home with me.” She tries to say it with nonchalance, but this time she’s the one who’s fixing her eyes on his forehead. “Drink enough to blame it on the alcohol.” She’s breathing in and out, but somehow, there’s still air trapped in her lungs.

He gets up and gestures downward with one finger like he’s telling her to stay put.

Two shot glasses appear in front of her, together with an almost-full bottle of rum. He fills both glasses to the brim and immediately downs one. “How many shots until we’re drunk enough?”

It only takes a single round.

\--

He’s so heavy on top of her, so fucking solid, and she’s always loved that, his weight, the reality of it, the undeniability. He’s making those whiny little noises when he kisses her, when he licks and sucks and bites at her mouth, her jaw, her throat. The ones that should seem incongruous coming from such a big guy, but that are perfect, that sound like wanting and surrender, that turn her on so much.

He smells of sweat and alcohol and the two cigarettes he allows himself whenever he’s out drinking. Just like the first time she’s had him. Just like the last time.

His breath is humid against her neck, against the hairs at the nape of it.

“So did you fuck all those cute little French guys?” His voice is so low she can’t make out his tone.

Rey runs her hands down his back and grabs his ass, pushing her hips up into him, and fuck, he’s so tall, she almost forgot how she can never grind against his cock when they’re kissing like this.

Truth is she didn’t fuck anyone in France. 

“Yes,” she hisses.

“Did you like it?” Still that low voice; maybe a growl, maybe a purr. It’s messed up that he asks, even more messed up that she’s into it, into the idea of him thinking about it, imagining her with other guys when she was too hung up on him to have sex with anyone else.

She pulls him even closer, splays her legs even wider to get more friction as she rubs herself against him. “Yes.”

“Good.” He curls his body away from hers, just enough to get at the closure of her wrap dress (easy access, so fucking easy) and opens it. She’s not wearing a bra and he smiles like he didn’t expect her to, like he knew. “You deserve to be fucked well.” He takes her breasts in that gentle-tight hold of his, the one she never forgot, and sucks on one nipple, gets it hard and sensitive in that way that borders on uncomfortable, tongue pressing against the tip, then swirling out again and again until her hips buck, until he taps into that connecting wire between her tits and her cunt.

“What did they do that I didn’t?” he says over her wet-hot flesh, then goes back to sucking – no, suckling – so soft and tender and obscene.

Her eyes are at half-mast, can’t seem to open, but she makes a sound, a _Huh?_ of a noise.

He chuckles and she feels his teeth around her areola, barely, feels his hands sliding down to her hips, fingers slipping inside the waistband of her underwear. “What did they do well, I mean.” His tone is both husky and casual, interested but confident. So fucking confident, the kind of cocky confidence he never liked to show around her, that was for other people. Used to be.

“I’m gonna give it to you,” he promises, “just better.” Fuck, she believes it, and the sound that comes from deep in her throat this time is rough and needy. He pushes her underwear down just enough for the stretched-tight crotch of his jeans to rub directly against her cunt. She’s spread so wide, turned on so much that she must get her wetness all over the denim, that his slide across her sex is easier than it should be.

“Press the heel of your hand into my nipple when it’s tight,” Rey says it more quietly than she’d like. “Do it hard, like you want to smooth it out. Real pressure.” His hands are callused from biking just like she remembers, and he does as he’s told, pushing flat, urging with real force. She feels it deep in her rib cage, his bones against hers. Fragility and two layers of skin.

Ben doesn’t let up until she all but overextends her neck, arching off the bed, loud groan and taut skin, and he nibbles and licks at every inch of her chest not covered by his hands, grinds between her splayed legs, making a mess of his jeans. She’s always loved making a mess of him, of his hands, his face, his clothes, his cock. Her underwear bites into her thighs, tangled fabric straining against the curve of her ass as she writhes beneath him. It’s constricting, uncomfortable, which only makes it better.

She’s so close, keening with it, and he pulls away, eyes tar fringed with sweet grass. “What else?” He licks a stripe down the middle of her stomach, lewd and languorous, not breaking his gaze.

She swallows hard, can’t talk, can’t think, her hands sliding into his hair, a little stiff from product in the front, soft like down in the back. He’s so good with his mouth, so fucking good with his stupid fucking mouth. And she knows where this is going, but it’s not going fast enough, so she’s pushing and pulling to get his head between her legs.

His face hovers over her cunt, breathing in, not exaggerated, but not subtle, and he knows she’s in no state to focus on anything but him, knows that she sees. Her pelvis pushes up uselessly, his hands holding her hips down, thumbs pushing at the crease between thigh and cunt. He darts his tongue out, slides it between her folds, one lick right across her clit, and it makes her twitch. His mouth curls. “Tell me, sweetheart.” It’s the first time he’s called her that tonight, and it’s embarrassing how it makes her muscles draw tight. “Don’t lie.”

She wants to make a mess of him again, get his whole fucking face wet, wants him to eat her out like he used to, enthusiastic, single-minded, get her pliant and faded before he even takes out his cock.

“Tease me,” she says, and it feels like she’s giving something away. “Kiss my thighs, my ass, my belly. Make me wait.” She wishes she had turned the overhead lights on, not just the small lamp for mood lighting, because she thinks there’s something in his expression, but she can’t know in the shadows.

“Like this?” he says, scattering butterfly kisses just above her pubic hair, lapping softly at her appendix scar, nuzzling too low between her legs.

“Yeah,” she grinds out, and he bites at her hip bone, scrapes his teeth across.

He’s always been good at reading her when they were like this, so much better than when they weren’t, and her body is a traitor, fisting hands and cording muscles and rough noises spilling her secrets, telling him all he needs to know. Nibbling all the way down to the hollow of her knee until she’s shaking; rubbing his nose along her perineum, slide slick with her juice that’s dribbled down; gentle bites and not-so-gentle sucks across her thighs (hard, but never enough to bruise, never enough to leave a mark) until she digs her fingers into the meat of his shoulders, until her short-clipped nails must leave half-moons on his pale skin.

She’s vibrating, sweaty, and finally, she’s needy enough to tell him, “Eat me out, please.”

He opens his mouth over her, incredibly wide, so much hot, wet flesh, tongue slipping between her folds, lapping at her, and it’s such a fucking relief, she yelps, pulls him closer, throws her head back.

“How did they do it?” He’s pulled away from her. _Why did he pull away_? “How did your cute little French friends eat your pussy?”

“Ben,” she whines his name, pulls it like taffy. “You know how, _please_.”

“Tell me what they did.” His voice is not breathless, exactly, but it’s ragged, his face so close she can feel the words across her cunt. “Tell me what you still think about when you get yourself off.”

Rey can’t tell him that she still thinks about him, but she has to give him something.

“My-“ She cuts herself off. “Pull it apart before you lick it. Tell me how pretty it is.” The heat crawling up her neck feels like shame, but he can’t know that. She has to get a grip, sound like the sophisticated, more experienced version of herself she left him to become. “Suck the inner lips into your mouth.” She doesn’t even know what she wants her voice to sound like: _clinical? demanding? blasé?_ “As much as you can, as long as you can.”

He nods, white glinting in the dusky light of her room as his teeth slide across his bottom lip.

“Rub both sides of my clit, not the top.” She keeps going, proving to him that she knows what she wants, that she’s not ashamed to ask for it. She doesn’t sound blasé at all. “If you take the hood in your mouth, too, I’ll come harder.”

It’s not strictly true, but it does help with overstimulation, which she’s always been prone to, and if she only gets one night, she wants to keep going, doesn’t want the shivers to get in the way.

And he does as he’s told, does it all and does it well, so well that she’s thrashing and whining and so fucking close, skirting an impossible edge. He tells her how pretty her pussy is, how the mess she makes looks like mother of pearl, how she’s softer than silk inside.

Rey believes it all that night, believes that _he_ believes it, that he still sees her that way; that, no matter where his gaze falls, all he sees is beauty. It’s half the reason she had to leave, it’s half the reason she wants him to stay.

She’s never been one to come easily, too much of a control freak for that, but by the time he gets to her clit, he has her so close that even though the ring of his mouth presses deep around the root, she comes quickly, violently. He lets up like he wouldn’t have before, goes back to peppering kisses, licking juice and murmuring praise, lets her calm down, her breathing reedy through the parched hollow of her mouth, before he asks, “Again?”

She strokes his hair out of his face, his hairline damp with sweat, his whole face damp with her, glistening. “Yes,” she murmurs. “Please,” she murmurs. And he smiles at her, soft, so soft, as soft as her caress, as her fingers tracing the shell of his ear, and then he gets her there again. Groans into her flesh, kisses and mumbles and sucks, sucks, sucks, until she unravels, until his fingers pull away from her, slick threads of her arousal catching on his fingertips, catching the light.

She pulls him up and kisses him, so greedy, so out of control, biting at his fingers when he inserts them into their kiss, her hands scrabbling along his body, wanting to feel every nook, every cranny, squirming to get at his belt. “Get this _off_ ,” she whines, plaintive.

He takes his tee off first, darker in the armpits and the chest. She tugs at his jeans and he smiles down at her, hair wild, eyes heavy. “Oh, you mean those.” His voice is dark and vibrates and there’s a grin that’s so fucking cocky, smug and completely justified. She hates how much it gets to her, how it makes her clench. He disposes quickly of his jeans and underwear, standing on his knees, proud and irresistible. More muscle than she remembers. Skin just as pale, cock just as pretty.

“Let’s take care of this while we’re at it,” he murmurs and takes her panties off, making her aware of how twisted up they are, how much they’ve been biting into her skin, leaving marks that might not fade so fast.

She looks up at him as she takes in a breath and all she can smell is sex: the scent of her own arousal and his slightly sharper, deliciously tangy sweat she wants to suck from his throat. “Come here.”

He comes, and this time, he doesn’t ask her about French boys, doesn’t ask her what she wants because he already knows. It’s so good to have him inside her again. Muscle memory from before, like her body’s been waiting to mold itself around him again, the initial discomfort reassuring in how familiar it feels, how right and necessary.

It’s quiet and intense, with her face in the crook of his neck, with his body on top of her, shutting out everything else, and if she weren’t such a coward, Rey would press their foreheads together, would hold his gaze until he falls apart, but she can’t do it, even as she’s shaking with how much she wants to.

“Turn me over,” she mumbles, and she doesn’t even think he hears, but he does. So attuned to her; always, always listening.

He pulls out and turns her over, but when she tries to scramble up on her hands and knees, he pushes her down, straddles her, and keeps her legs straight with his strong thighs, stronger than they were. _Someone isn’t skipping leg day_ , she thinks and it makes her giggle.

“Like this,” he pants against the whorls of her ear, his body so deliciously, deliriously heavy. “Okay?” he asks, voice shot, cock nudging against the puffy, used lips of her cunt.

“Yeah,” she purrs more than she says it, curves her spine and pushes up her ass. “ _Yeah_.”

It’s fucking amazing, her legs locked like this, his one hand between them, heel of it rubbing where her clit is, the other hand at her ribs as his hips roll and roll and roll, grinding her into a pulp, a goddamn mess of a person, his teeth pressing against the pounding pulse in her neck, but never biting, just panting hot and wet. She can do so little beneath him, but she tries, tries to push back, use her hands fisting damp sheets as leverage to get him deeper, make them go faster.

“You’re so good, Rey,” he whispers, murmurs, slurs. “So fucking good.” His hips stutter, his body over her shudders, no rhyme, no reason, no rhythm, no shame, and he comes, making those high whines, the ones she still imagines when she gets herself off, the ones that sound like breaking, their splinters burrowing under her skin. He keeps rubbing at her pussy, keeps moving even as he softens. “Help me, sweetheart,” he pleads, the earlier cockiness gone, and she maneuvers her hand on top of his, pushes his finger between her folds, beneath the hood of her clit, makes him rub there, just like he used to, and it makes her come, one drawn-out groan into the pillow, her body shuddering just like his did only moments ago.

When she wakes up the next morning, it’s early. The sun’s not even up yet, but he’s already gone.

Groggily, Rey pats into the kitchen and half-expects a note on the counter or a stained coffee cup in the sink, but there’s nothing. Not even a used towel in the bathroom. Like he never came home with her at all.

\--

It’s not like he’s completely out of her life after that.

Poe is too determined to keep their group chat going, and any time Rey’s convinced herself that Ben’s stopped reading the messages, he will post a quick “happy birthday!” or “get well soon!” or “good luck!” in response to someone else’s message, and when she posts an old picture of that horribly misshapen Galaxy Wars cake she made him sophomore year to congratulate him on his birthday, he even sends an emoji in reply.

Rey eventually starts dating one of Rose’s colleagues, and it’s good. Jannah’s smart and pretty and strong, a bit of a smug asshole, too, which really works for Rey. They never pretend that it’s forever, and when Jannah’s poached by a company based in London shortly before their two-year anniversary, they part amicably. It stings, but it never threatens to tear her apart.

And then Ben comes back. Not just to the same coast or same state. No, he gets a job right here in Coruscant. When he announces the news, Rey posts a gif with a lot of glitter and confetti in the chat.

Their Friday get-togethers have been spaced out to once a month by then, their adult lives having changed too much in the years since Ben’s left, but it’s still something Rey looks forward to, and it’s nice to see how easily he fits back into the group. The two of them are more relaxed around each other, too, less alert. Less afraid, maybe. Time hasn’t swept away what happened, but it’s dulled the edges. So when Ben talks about a horror movie retrospective at one of the theaters downtown, Rey decides to tag along. They get falafel from a food truck after the movie and talk about Ed Wood and Bela Lugosi and catharsis, and Rey eats uncharacteristically slowly to have an excuse not to say goodbye and go back to her car.

Going to the movies with Ben every other week and seeing him for dinner and drinks with their friends once a month become part of her routine like yoga on Wednesday and her grocery run on Sunday. They’re not incredibly close, but it’s still good to have him in her life. Sometimes, she sends him a random funny picture or quote, and he messages her if he can’t figure out a clue in his crossword ( _Don’t tell me, just give me a better hint!_ ) or sees a mention of RebelTech in the newspaper ( _Is that the project you’ve been talking about? The Times seems impressed!_ ).

Summer turns to fall and when the vibrant oranges and reds of falling leaves give way to brownish sludge and slushy rain, Rey’s usual pre-holidays blues start to set in. She likes to keep busy, but as winter approaches, most social activities seem to slow down. Even the movie retrospective’s going to end next month. Thankfully, the old gang is meeting up tonight, and that always helps.

After dinner, when they’ve migrated to a neighborhood bar, Rey and Rose wind up sitting at one end of a long table, playing with the orange tabby that’s the place’s mascot and having more Irish Coffee than is strictly advisable. It’s delicious and strong and Rey’s taking the train tonight.

Ben’s on the other end of the table, nodding along with what is probably a riveting tale of corporate finance from Hux. Soon, Rey realizes, this will be the only time she sees him. It’s fine. They might have upgraded from food trucks to indoor dining after the movies, talking longer and more broadly, but there’s still this thing between them, tender like a bruise, that means she can’t ask him for things, that she can’t ask him to spend time with her alone. Maybe it’s for the best.

The seats between Rey and Ben are taken up by Finn, Poe, Kay and Paige, who are having very earnest wine-fueled discussions, the kind usually reserved for late nights at undergrad parties with too many humanities majors. They’ve already run through social justice, systemic inequality and what it means to lead a good life. At this rate, they’re going to figure out how to achieve world peace by midnight.

Rose currently seems more focused on the cat than on their conversation, so Rey starts paying actual attention to the quartet next to them. She doesn’t really want to get involved, but their current topic makes something in her spike, rubbing her the wrong way. She feels herself straightening, and wonders how rude it would be to hijack their conversation. Then again, she’s never been known for her diplomacy or restraint.

Taking a swig of Finn’s LaCroix to get the sweet coffee taste out of her mouth, Rey turns towards the others.

“That’s bullshit,” she says, not too loud, but with intent.

“What is?” Paige asks and suddenly everyone’s eyes seem to be on her.

“That love is enough. That love is anywhere close to enough.” She shrugs, but the words taste bitter. “That’s a fairytale and a lie. It’s a manipulation tactic, an excuse that makes people stay in bad relationships. What you really need to make a relationship work is honesty.” She nods for emphasis, and if she’s looking at Ben, that’s probably coincidence. “You need to find a partner who respects you enough to tell you the truth always. If they can’t do that, no amount of love will save you. Love is a dime a dozen, it’s a delusion to make us feel like we’re better than the animals. Real honesty is rare.” She stabs a finger at Paige, who looks taken aback. “That’s what you need to find.”

Someone is saying something, but the only thing Rey hears is the snort Ben lets out. There’s music in the background, people talking and laughing, but the sound still carries, making the tendons in her throat seize, making it impossible to ignore. “What?” She shoots him a glare.

“Nothing.” It’s not nothing, she can see it in the set of his jaw, in the way his chest heaves with controlled breathing.

Always so controlled around her, always placating, even after all this time. It makes her stomach roil. “Come on, say it.”

“ _That_ ,” he says slowly, deliberately, “is what’s bullshit.” His nostrils flare and she thinks she can make out a flush creeping up his neck, even two seats apart. “Sometimes, honesty is just an excuse to be cruel. And sometimes, you care about someone so much that you don’t want to cause them more pain. That’s not dishonesty, that’s love.” His eyes blaze and he bites his stupid mouth like he’s the one who’s hurting. “And it’s not a dime a dozen. The type of love that makes you want to cherish and protect someone, that’s rare.” His voice trails off, something like wistfulness almost making it break. For a moment, his eyes bore straight into her, deeper than anything should, and his voice is too loud when he says, “And you don’t get to judge people who hold on to that. You don’t get to tell them that they’re weak just because they love you more than you can love them back.”

Before she has fully processed his words, Ben shoves his chair back, gaze flicking around the table. “Excuse me.”

Everyone looks flabbergasted, uncomfortable. Rey feels like she got punched in the stomach.

She gets up, but Finn holds her back. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea,” he says quietly. He might be right.

“I have to,” she replies and goes to find him.

He’s out in the alley by the back exit, one shoe scuffing against the wheel of a metal dumpster, three fingers pressed around a cigarette as he sucks on it greedily. Some things never change, Rey thinks, and it almost makes her laugh, lukewarm and sour.

She recognizes when he senses her presence, can see it in the way his shoulders sag, the in and out of his breath becoming more deliberate as he wills himself to be calm.

So many thoughts swirl in Rey’s head, words, sentences, memories or even just whispers of things, but she can’t make sense of any of it. Her face is too hot and the air is too cool and maybe Ben is too far away.

He flicks off the ash in that way she knows, stubs out the cigarette and throws it into the trash before turning around. “I’m sorry, Rey.” The weird, apologetic smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Always ready to take the blame when it comes to her, always softer with her than with anybody else, because she’s fragile and weak and he doesn’t want to break her. “I shouldn’t have made it personal.” His mouth twists uncomfortably. “I’ve had a little too much.”

He makes to leave. Rey pushes at his shoulder to hold him back. “Don’t fucking apologize,” she says, the edge in her own voice ready to cut.

He rolls his eyes wearily. “Fuck you, Rey,” he says without heat.

When he tries to walk away again, she shoves him, this time with both hands. He’s surprised enough to stagger back. “That’s part of the problem. You always apologizing, always trying to take the blame when I fuck up or I’m in the wrong. You should stand up for yourself, Ben, not let me push you around.”

There’s a spark in his eyes and he pulls himself up to his full height. It’s satisfying to get a rise out of him, to draw out his anger. “Push me around?” he says darkly and takes a step closer. “Like you’re trying right now?”

“Yes,” she hisses, excitement making her nerves buzz, “exactly.”

His face is a storm. It’s in his eyes, his brows, in the twitch of his mouth. Rey feels heat rushing low.

“Okay,” he says, and it sounds almost dangerous. “So I feel bad for how you grew up. You know what? After what you’ve told me, that’s an appropriate response.” She doesn’t flinch, but it’s a near thing. “What I wanted was to care for you and make you feel safe, not bring you more pain. Guess what? That’s _normal_ when you love someone.” Rey takes a half-step back. Of course he knows she isn’t _normal_ , that someone like her could never be; it shouldn’t come as a shock. “It’s not some evil ploy to rob you of your fucking agency, Rey.” 

His hands pull at his hair, leaving it disheveled, and his eyes are gleaming, black smolder in a face splotched red from alcohol and agitation. “And if you weren’t so fucked in the head, if you weren’t always out to balance the scales and make sure that you never owe anything to anyone, that every little thing you have is bought and paid for through your own strength, then you would get that.” 

Rey doesn’t like the space Ben puts between them, but she instinctively knows he needs it. He pats down his shirt and jacket, and his eyes slant in that way she has seen before, like defeat. “What you can’t understand is that loving someone means throwing the scales away and sharing what you have. I just wanted to give you whatever I could, I wanted to be good for you, Rey, but all you can see is an IOU.” 

He heaves a sigh, and she wants it to be a sob, to hear that this is as painful for him as it is for her, but it just sounds tired, so very, very tired. “And I’m not wired that way. I don’t want to be. So you can just fuck the fuck off, go back to your lair and hoard all your treasure. Do your quid-pro-quo thing until you die alone.” Ben rubs at his eye and his scar, already turning to leave. “Fuck if I care.”

Rey just stands there. By the time she’s pulled herself together enough to go back in, grab her coat and leave money on the table ( _Not now, Finn, please._ ), he’s already gone.


	2. Chapter 2

She tries so hard not to think about what he said. _She’s fucked in the head, sees traps where there are none. She can’t love someone like- She can’t love_ anyone _like they deserve. She’s broken._

It’s every truth she knows about herself, and having it out in the open, straight from the mouth of the person who (despite everything) might still know her most deeply is both upsetting and strangely satisfying. Proof of what she can’t be, no matter how naturally it comes to others.

As she thinks it over, Rey realizes that she baited him, that her tirade about love and honesty wasn’t about sharing her opinion, certainly not about sharing it with Paige, Finn and the others. It had been for Ben. She’d wanted to get a rise out of him, to hurt him. Another shitty thing she’s done, like France, like waiting for his last day in Coruscant so she could fuck him on her own terms.

He didn’t deserve it, and just because she wound up getting hurt, too, doesn’t mean she’s off the hook. Once the sharpness of her own pain has curdled into something less volatile, Rey decides to take the first step. She pulls up his contact on her phone, their last exchange coming up:

_Rey: traffic sucks, running late, save seats_

_Ben: I’m sitting in the third row from the back. Got us caramel popcorn and hard cider. See you soon._

There’s a pang in her chest. Things had been going well. They’d fallen into a rhythm, conversation flowing more easily, references to their shared past starting to feeling like common ground again instead of a minefield. It had been nice, pleasant. Of course she had to fuck it up.

Rey writes and rewrites her message to him way too many times, eventually settling on a style similar to his texts, always a little formal.

_Rey: Hey Ben, I’m very sorry about Friday. Can we meet? I want to apologize._

They haven’t met up without other friends outside of the movie retrospective, and she hopes her offer makes clear how serious she is about this.

_Ben: Don’t worry. It’s fine._

_Rey: It isn’t! I was wrong, and I’d like to apologize in person._

_Ben: I don’t want you to._

_Ben: See you next month._

It’s a dismissal, that much is clear, and something in Rey chafes against it, wants to keep pushing, but she manages not to.

Days and weeks roll by, and Rey keeps battling the urge to reach out. Send him an irreverent joke or a funny picture, ask him about seeing the last movie on the schedule, but she doesn’t. Whenever her text notification sounds on Sundays, she hopes he’s stuck with his crossword and decided to ask her for a better clue. Of course that doesn’t happen either.

When he shows up at the next Friday meet-up, it’s a bit of a surprise. It’s obvious he came straight from work in his slightly rumpled suit, tired lines etched into his face. Rey expects him to avoid her, but his superficial politeness is much harder to take. He talks earnestly with Rose and Finn, and after two beers, he starts sharing a few big laughs with Poe and Kay, but when he sits with her for a few minutes, his replies are just long enough not to ping as too short and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Eventually, they arrive at a new equilibrium where their interactions don’t seem quite as fake as that first time, but the remnants of intimacy between them Rey hadn’t even fully realized she’d relished are gone. He never mentions their shared past anymore and when she references it, he brushes it off. ( _Remember how drafty your studio apartment was? I thought we were being haunted by a ghostly presence until I realized the gusts of wind were coming out of the damn power outlets._ – _Oh, right. Forgot about that. So what did your landlord say, Rose?_ ) It hurts more than she wants to admit, and sometimes, she gets so angry that she wants to fling herself at him, fists hammering at his chest until he has to acknowledge her. It’s ridiculous and childish, but the impulse doesn’t go away.

And then Rose discovers a new Sangria bar for Friday. The place is gaudily decorated and dimly lit, the pitchers enormous and the Sangria way stronger than any of them expected. To make matters worse, the only food they have on offer is pretzel sticks and peanuts in small packages. Rey isn’t exactly a lightweight, but when they’re calling last round shortly before midnight, she’s definitely more than just tipsy.

She goes to the bathroom in the basement, both to pee and to freshen up a bit before she calls a cab, splashing her face with cold water and drinking a few gulps from the tap. She’s almost at the staircase when a door behind her creaks. Something makes her turn around. The person coming out is tall and broad, big enough to block most of the fluorescent light in the men’s room behind them. Ben.

Rey knows it’s a bad idea to corner him, but her inhibitions are low, her feelings are high and she just wants for things between them to be different, to not be so cold and polite and fucking impersonal. They’re more than that, they always have been.

She takes him by the arm and pulls him into a corner close to the staircase. He lets her, which she wants to read as a good sign.

“Ben, can we talk?” She doesn’t let go of his arm.

“Right here?” There’s very little light, but she knows he looks tired again, not because of a hard work week or the alcohol or late hour. It’s because of her.

“Yes. I-“ She takes a step closer, adopting a wide stance, as if she could block his exit if he really wanted to leave. “Ben, I miss you.”

He huffs a laugh, and it hurts.

“I miss my friend,” she says and hates how watery her voice sounds.

“Were we ever friends?” He doesn’t slur the words, but it’s clear he’s had a little too much, too.

“What?” It’s unthinkable, a slap. “Of course, Ben, we were always friends. Always. Even when we were-“

He shakes his head and something vicious flashes in his eyes. “But what about your standards, Rey?” he taunts her. “If I’m not honest enough to be with you, how can I be your friend? Or is that rule just for the friends you fuck?”

She sucks in a breath. Hearing that last part from his lips shoots heat down her spine, and the way he speaks to her, dismissive, condescending, only turns her on more. She deserves it, she deserves much more.

He chuckles, but there’s no real joy in it. “You know what? If honesty’s what you want from me, I’ll give it to you. I’ll be honest, Rey. Just for you.” He bends his head down like he’s about to spill a secret, the mass of his body curving over hers. His index finger comes to rest against her lips, too hot and too tempting. She can hardly breathe. “The truth is,” his voice is slow and rough, molasses over gravel, “that no matter how angry I am with you, how done I want to be with you, I still want to fuck you.”

And Rey knows this is such a bad fucking idea, but it’s something she can give him, something he wants, something they both want, and so she slides her hand around his neck and pulls him close. “Yeah,” she whispers and licks at his finger still placed against her mouth. She sucks. “Me, too.”

He grabs her ass and traps her in an embrace, his mouth covering hers and his tongue pushing in, searching, taking. And fuck, she’s missed this, all of it. His body, his strength, the smell of his sweat and the taste of his spit. He’s so close, all over her, and it’s like she can breathe again even as he sucks all air from her lungs. If she could think straight, she might be embarrassed by the way she grinds into him, standing on tiptoes, fumbling to get his shirt out of his waistband, but there’s no room for propriety as her instincts take over.

There’s a loud clang from upstairs and someone curses. Ben draws away just enough to look up, and Rey digs her fingers into his neck to get him close again. “Please.”

He laughs darkly and tugs her towards the nearest door, the one to the ladies’ room. She wishes it weren’t one with three stalls, she wishes it weren’t so brightly lit.

He shoulders the door open, still gripping her tight, holding her to him. “Anybody in here?”

When there’s no reply, he drags her in and pins her against the door. “Better make this quick.”

It takes her eyes a moment to adjust after the dim stairwell, but then she’s almost glad for the harsh light. His hair’s already a mess, eyes hooded, the scar across his cheek and forehead a silvery line in a face flushed with arousal. So fucking beautiful it hurts to look at and yet she can’t stop, not until he makes her with a punishing kiss. Fuck, how she’s missed his mouth, too red, thick with blood, obscene. There’s none of his usual tenderness, not in his kiss and not in his touch, and it gets her so wet how primal this is, how deep it goes.

He paws at her collar to get at her tits, permanently stretching out the seam, she’s sure, fingers so eager to push down the cups of her bra, get at her skin, that he scratches her. He doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, just puts his fucking amazing mouth over her nipple and sucks. Rey’s head thunks against the door, even as she’s scrabbling at his belt to get at his cock. When she palms it through his underwear, he bites her nipple, making her moan.

It’s rough when he pushes her jeans and underwear down, leaving them somewhere around her knees. She tries to pull up one leg to make room for him as he lets up for a moment, getting a condom from the wallet in his back pocket, fumbling when he tries to tear it open.

“Let me.” Her voice is hoarse like she’s been screaming his name.

He doesn’t check if she’s ready once the condom is on, simply hoists her up and pushes in. The angle isn’t good, her body unprepared for the intrusion, and she keens. Ben stops.

“Rey, I didn’t-“ he starts, his eyes softening, his hands on her hips trying to pull her up and off of him.

“No,” she cuts him off, frantic, needy. He needs this. She does, too. “It’s good,” she says and bears down. “I want it like this.”

He doesn’t ask again, simply buries his face in the crook of her neck, biting and sucking, both hands holding her hips in a tight grip as he thrusts into her again and again and again, leaving his marks inside her and out, bruising her. Pleasure-pain sparks from her cunt outward, buzzing along the surface of her skin. The wet slaps of their bodies and their animal noises echo in the white-tiled space around them, and if someone were to try and get inside, Rey’s not sure she would even notice over the sounds of them, over the power with which every snap of his hips forces her back against the wood. He’s so massive, so heartbreakingly solid as he fucks her into the door, making it shake.

Rey’s useless hands roam his back and his ass and his shoulders, and when he starts making those high sounds she loves, she digs her hands into his hair, holding his head in the crook of her neck like a mother.

His body goes rigid, then pumps forward a few times as he comes, biting a string of muffled sounds into her throat.

When he pulls away, his eyes are glassy and the lines of his face have relaxed. It feels so fucking good that she can give him this, that she can still make him look this way.

He’s quick to dispose of the condom and tucks himself back in before haphazardly straightening his hair and shirt as she does the same.

“You go back first,” she says.

Ben nods and puts his hand on the doorknob. She doesn’t expect it, can’t make sense of it, but somehow, he presses a kiss to her lips before he walks away.

\--

When Rey wakes up the next day, her head is muzzy, her mouth dry and sour. As hangovers go, it’s not so bad, but she definitely needs to hydrate, brush her teeth and shower. She starts clambering out of bed, and that’s when she feels it, soreness between her legs. Ben.

It’s not like she forgot. She might even have dreamed about what they did last night. She certainly thought about it in the cab on her way home. But now, with her eyelids still sticking together and her stomach queasy, it’s different. The day’s too bright, the truth too sharp.

Fuck. Why does this keep happening? Why does she keep making it that way?

Part of her knows, of course, but right now her main concern is where they stand after this. It wasn’t planned, even if it felt inevitable, and she’s sure ignoring it again won’t work. This is a wound that never fully heals, she knows that much. If they pretend like it didn’t happen, it will continue to fester. When she moves her head too fast, it’s like she can feel her brain sliding inside her cranium. No good thoughts can come from this. She needs to prioritize.

Shower. Coffee. Maybe some eggs. Baked beans on toast if she can swing it.

She’s halfway to the bathroom when her phone gives a brief buzz. It’s tempting to ignore it but the quiet _What if?_ in the back of her mind wins.

_Ben: We need to talk._

Rey heaves a small sigh. At least they’re on the same page about it; at least this time he’s not trying to make things go away by ignoring them.

Before she has thought about what to reply, another message comes in.

_Ben: You want to do it at my place or should I come over?_

Shit, she doesn’t even know where he lives anymore. Somewhere up in Rosewood, she’s gleaned that much, where the townhouses and luxury apartments are.

_Ben: Shit, I don’t even know where you live._

The message startles a laugh out of her. One other thing they’re on the same page about. Fleetingly, Rey pictures his big hand half buried in his hair, half covering the side of his forehead.

She’s grateful he doesn’t suggest neutral ground. This might get messy, and despite recent evidence to the contrary, Rey is not someone who relishes making a spectacle of herself.

She also knows that if it goes badly, she can’t be the one he walks out on. She needs to be the one with the option to leave. Better to be thrown out than left behind.

_Rey: I’ll come over. Send me your address._

He sends her a pin and she pulls up her navigation app, adding enough time to get ready and shower before she replies.

\--

Halfway to Ben’s place, Rey realizes she’s way too early. Instead of texting him, she decides to take a slight detour to a deli she likes. She knows nothing about how Ben lives now, but when he was younger, his kitchen was never particularly well stocked. And food is always good, right?

As she turns onto his street, she can no longer ignore the tight coil in her gut. She has no idea how he lives because she knows so very little about the life he leads, and it feels wrong.

“You have reached your destination,” the politely blank voice says, and Rey pulls into a parking spot marked for visitors in front of an apartment building with big balconies and a neatly groomed lawn in front. Rey makes decent money, but she’d probably have to save up for another five years to even afford a down payment around here.

On the third floor, Ben awaits her, standing in an open door on socked feet. “Hey.” His mouth presses into a line, but it’s not hostile.

“Hey.” Her expression must be similar to his, something she tries to bend into a smile but that’s too uncertain to be. “I brought food.” She holds up the plastic bag.

The hint of a smile, two fingers rubbing at his scar. “Oh good.” He steps back too quickly, like he only just realized he’ll have to let her in. “Come in.”

His place has a small entryway with a mountain bike hung up on the wall and a door-less coat closet. Ben doesn’t offer her a tour, simply gestures for her to join him in the living area, only separated from the kitchen by a breakfast bar.

It’s nice, what she sees of his place. She thought it might be flashy with a minimalist designer vibe, exquisitely generic, but it’s cozier than that. Shelving and furniture made from different kinds of wood, plenty of books, an entertainment set-up with a prominent record player and a sizable vinyl collection across from a dark blue sectional. She even spies what must be a fairly recent picture of Ben and his parents in a bookcase.

“Coffee?” he asks from next to a sleek coffee maker with a transparent compartment for whole beans.

“Yes, please.” Rey puts her bag down on the counter, staying on the other side of the breakfast bar. She holds up a wrapped bagel. “I got one with just cream cheese and one with lox.”

The coffee maker whirrs to life, loudly grinding the beans, then making a drawn-out hissing sound as it spews steaming liquid into two large mugs. As soon as the noise dies down, Rey removes the blue box with blintzes from the bag. “These have cheese. The ones in the red box are sweet.”

Ben nods. “Milk? Sugar?” he asks as he brings over the mugs.

Rey usually drinks her coffee with milk, like she always has. “I’m good.”

“Let’s eat on the couch,” he says and goes to set their drinks down on the coffee table.

Rey patters after him and he goes to fetch plates, returning with an additional carton of milk. She nods in acknowledgement and adds some to her mug.

“Good bagel,” he says after his first bite.

She smiles, relieved. “Good coffee,” she offers.

They eat and drink in silence for a few minutes, but then Ben puts the remains of his bagel down and takes a drink of coffee in a way that she knows what’s coming.

“I’m not even sure if I should apologize for last night.” He tries to look into her eyes but doesn’t quite manage.

“Well,” Rey says on an exhale. “I’m pretty sure that _I_ should.” She grips three of her fingers with the other hand to stop herself from fidgeting. “I apologize. I’m sorry.” The feel of her heartbeat beneath her ribs is strange, dull. “Not just for last night. Or, well, not really for last night at all.”

He raises an eyebrow, both hands wrapped around his mug.

“I mean, I’m not sorry that last night happened, I’m just sorry how it happened,” she tries to explain. “Does that make sense?”

“Maybe?” He looks as uncertain as his answer, and Rey tries to gather her strength so she won’t lose her nerve or temper her words. She’s talked so much about honesty. It’s the least she owes him.

“I miss you, Ben. I’ve been missing you for a long time.” She looks at the upholstery behind him because she’s terrified, and if she sees his eyes or even just his facial expression, she might not be able to go through with this. “There’s always been this space inside of me,” she hates how her voice goes quiet, “that’s just for you.”

“I know that space,” he says with something that could be a laugh. “It feels like a damn vacuum sometimes.”

The coil in her belly gives a little.

“Yes.” Rey nods. “It does feel like that sometimes.” 

She wants that to be enough, to do the rest of it without words, but Ben deserves more. No matter how much she wants him to just wrap her in his arms and call it good.

“If things were different, I might be able to be friends with you,” she says. It could be true. “But as it is, there’s always this pull. Every guy on a mountain bike, every dumb crossword puzzle makes me think of you. I can’t even watch all the new Galaxy Wars content because it used to be our thing.” She rubs her thumb against one finger until it hurts. 

He rearranges himself on the couch, tugging one foot against his thigh. Rey wants to look in his eyes, but can’t make herself, not yet.

“I want to see you and talk to you and do things with you. And when we’re in the same room, it’s worse because then it’s so obvious that we’re not close anymore. So there’s this impulse-“ She takes a deep breath. Honesty. That’s what she owes him. “I want to hurt you to prove that I still can. I want to tug at this thing between us until it aches because that means we’re still connected.” There’s pressure behind her eyes and a strange feeling in her mouth. “It’s shitty, but it’s true.”

He hums, takes a sip of his coffee, takes a breath. “After you left – before going to France, I mean – I punched a hole in my bathroom door. It was like all that- that rage from my teenage years coming back.” Rey’s heart breaks a little at his admission. 

Ben straightens his back. “But it felt like I deserved it, too, because you always worked so hard for everything and I didn’t. You had to jump through hoops to get a scholarship to CoreU, I just had to swallow my pride and call my parents. And then you did the same with France, doing it alone while working at the diner and keeping up your grades and helping me with my stupid STEM requirement.” He sighs and briefly scratches his scalp in a familiar motion.

“I felt like there was so much I had to make up to you, like I had no right to complain about my own shit or be angry with you or talk about things getting better with my parents when you had none.” It might be the first time he’s said the word _parents_ in front of her since he started talking to them again. “And that was stupid.”

She nods and finds herself mumbling, “Pretty stupid.”

A half-smile curves his pretty mouth. “But maybe I was right when I said we should throw the scales away. Maybe both of us deserve good things.” There’s tightness in her chest, but the coil in her gut relaxes even further. “I still think this could be a really good thing, Rey.” He looks straight at her, and there is something so deep and vulnerable in his eyes that she wants to reach out and cradle his face in her palm. “ _We_ can be a really good thing.”

For now, she simply takes his hand. “I think so, too.”

It’s not that easy, making a new beginning, Rey knows, but they don’t have to figure out everything today. They have time. 

So she briefly squeezes his hand and asks, “Have you seen The Mandalorian? I hear it’s good.”

“I only watched the first episode.” Ben tilts his head. “Wasn’t the same, watching it alone.”

She feels her mouth turn up in a smile. “How about we put the food away and give it a try?”

“Sounds good.”

On their way to the kitchen, they walk by the bookcase. “That’s a nice picture,” Rey says, pointing at the one of him with his parents.

“Thanks,” Ben replies, “I like it, too.” He puts their things in the dishwasher. “They’re one of the reasons I moved back here. It’s only a three hour drive, so it’s easier to see them, come home for the High Holidays and stuff.”

“I’m glad you’re on good terms.” She quickly washes her hands to get the grease from the blintzes off. “How are they doing?”

Ben shrugs as he hands her a kitchen towel. “Dad’s always complaining about his new hip, and every time we talk they’ve started a new home improvement project, but yeah, they’re well.”

Rey smiles in response and takes his hand, leading him back to the couch.

They cuddle up just like they used to, Ben’s arm around her, her head on his chest. It’s so nice, so comfortable. She can smell him, can feel the steady beat of his heart.

Ben starts the first episode and presses a kiss against her forehead. Easy, natural.

Rey twists a little to look up at him. “Are you sure this is okay? Or do you have plans? Some work to finish maybe?”

He smiles at her, a smile she knows, a smile she realizes she’s been missing for a long time. “I’m wide open, Rey.” His lips find hers, soft and slow. “This is perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

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